


The Photograph

by LadyAJ_13



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Photographs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 03:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1371655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAJ_13/pseuds/LadyAJ_13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson can't quite settle in to his new office on the Bus. There's something missing, but he can't figure out what...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Photograph

Something isn’t quite right. It’s causing a creeping, itchy feeling along his shoulders and back, keeping him on edge, but it only happens here, not out in the field or even in the rest of the Bus. Phil Coulson looks around his new office, trying to decide what it is.

Obviously, there are some big changes from his old office. For one, this office is currently 10,000 feet in the air (say what you like about SHIELD HQ, but it’s never actually taken off. Yet).

That’s not it, though. It’s not the walls, which are a remarkably similar shade to his old ones, or even the furniture. His new desk is better than his old one – no more wonky leg – and he’s brought his own chair. There’s even a small collection of Captain America memorabilia in one corner, trying to make this feel more like home. Maybe it’s the layout…

“Phil.” Melinda May is standing in his doorway, watching him struggle to move the desk.

“May.”

“Been reading up on feng shui?”

Phil gives up on the desk and leans against it instead. “Pardon?”

“Your desk – currently you’re in line with the door, which is a path of negative energy.” Phil looks at her for a few seconds. “Right. So if it’s not feng shui, what is it that’s making you drag your furniture around for the third time this month?”

She doesn’t sound concerned, but that’s standard Melinda May. They’ve been friends for years but she’s only started calling him Phil since they’ve been on the Bus. Still… up here it’s her or Ward, and he has no desire to spill his guts to him.

“The place just feels wrong somehow. Like something’s missing. I probably just haven’t settled in yet.”

She nods. “Right.” She walks into the room, making a circle around the desk. “So you haven’t noticed what’s missing?”

Phil looks round again, but no – it’s all there. Desk, chair, computer. The usual office stuff.

“I’ll leave you to it.” May’s gone before he can say goodbye, but he just shrugs; she can be weird if she likes. His desk would be much better further back, perhaps angled slightly to one side…

 

\--

Three days later, Phil shifts in his chair as he’s filling in post-mission reports. They’d been to a pick-up of sensitive files in Colorado, and after everything had gone without a hitch, he’d given the team a day off in Boulder to stretch their legs while he catches up on the paperwork. Skye and Ward’s bickering was starting to give him a headache.

The itch of wrongness is still there, though; his new layout hasn’t solved the issue. He’s starting to think nothing will. Perhaps it’s just the change of place after ten years in the same four walls. Perhaps he’ll never get used to it. It shouldn’t really matter when he has seventeen pages of asset-performance reports to wade through.

The door to his office flies open, banging off the wall. May stalks over to his desk and places something down on it, but it’s only when she moves her hand to cross her arms that he can see what it is.

It’s a picture of Clint. Well, Hawkeye, more accurately. It’s one of those bystander-taken shots that get mass-produced these days and sold as souvenirs. This one has even come complete with a plastic-y wood-effect frame. It must have been taken during the battle of New York, because he vaguely recognises the street layout behind the figure, and Clint himself is stood upon a pile of rubble. His bow hangs loosely to one side as he stares off into the distance. It looks staged, like a pose put on for a publicity shot, but while Clint would have known the photographer was there – he didn’t miss much, Hawkeye wasn’t just a name – Phil can see that those eyes are scanning for danger. He recognises the tautness of muscles ready to spring underneath the casual pose.

May clears her throat. “Waiting for you to spot what was missing was like waiting for Fury to start kissing babies.”

“And what was missing was a fan-picture of Hawkeye?” Phil picks up the frame and turns it idly in his hands.

May leans over, hands on his desk, so she looms over him. “I have known you a long time, Phil. I never used to visit your office that often, but I occasionally popped in.” She stops, like she’s waiting for confirmation, so he nods. “In the last three years, I have never – _never_ , Phil – managed to drop in when Clint wasn’t there. Your office was empty because you were missing an asset. But I don’t have the pull to get you your very own live-in Avenger, so the picture will have to do.”

She straightens up. “Wheels up in fifteen,” she adds, and leaves, thankfully, managing to sweep out despite the fitted black jumpsuit.

Phil places the picture carefully on his desk, turned in so its contents are shielded from anyone entering by the door. He returns to his paperwork, studiously ignoring how the itch along his spine has eased a little.

 

\--

“Hawkeye?”

Skye has invaded his office again; the bracelets don’t seem to have deterred her curious streak. In attempting to ignore her, she’s managed to end up behind him. She picks up the picture.

“Always had you pegged for a Captain America type. That’s what Ward says, anyway.” She puts it down again. Phil resists the temptation to straighten the angle.

“Oh no, there it is,” she’s spotted the memorabilia. “You know they make this kind of stuff for all of them now. If Hawkeye’s your favourite I’m sure you could get some stuff of him.”

“Please don’t touch that Skye,” he keeps his voice level and his pen over the paper, but he can tell she was about to riffle through a vintage Captain America comic like it was last month’s _Vogue._ Okay, so the cabinet on the other side of the room has a mirrored door, but it helps his authority if his agents think he has eyes in the back of his head.

“If you have nothing better to do, I believe some cardio training would be a more productive use of your time.”

Phil’s sure she’s not headed down to the treadmill, but at least it got her out of his office.

 

\--

Mail is an infrequent pleasure on the Bus; although not always in the air, they’re not often touched down in a place where they can go pick up their parcels. This time, though, they’ve been meeting up in Florida with a contingent of agents from HQ, who’ve thoughtfully brought along everything that was being held for them.

“Food parcel, yes!” Fitz tears into his package. “Look Simmons, tea!” Simmons, enthusiastically checking out a similar parcel, just pulls out several bars of Dairy Milk and waves them in response.

“Coulson,” Ward hands over a small brown parcel. Now this is unusual. Phil doesn’t normally receive mail; no parents left to send letters or goodies (he’s only down here because sometimes Simmons’ mother sends cake) and no close friends outside of SHIELD, who could all just contact him through official lines.

He’s back in his office before he realises it, and sits at his desk to open parcel. A scrap of paper falls out as soon as he’s slit the side.

“ _So May told me what she bought you, and funny though that is, I’m sure it’s no replacement for the real thing. Sad times. Perhaps this will work better than that stupid picture of me being all hero-y.”_

Inside is a photograph in a simple wooden frame. Clint’s not looking at the camera again, but this time it’s obvious he’s been taken off guard (probably Natasha’s work, then). He’s relaxed, sprawled against a sofa and laughing. It’s the Clint he knows from those long days in his office.

Stuck to the back is another photograph, though he’s not sure what of, and a note.

“ _Natasha wouldn’t let me take one of her so here’s the best I could get. That blur is her fist about to hit me in the ear.”_

Phil smiles, removing the Hawkeye picture from the frame and adding the Natasha-blur. That’ll look good on his cabinet.

 

\--

Skye had the makings of a good agent. An excellent agent, really, and she’d already proved her worth with her hacking abilities. She hadn’t quite gelled yet, though; wasn’t 100% SHIELD. She sort of reminded him a little of Clint when he’d first started though, and he had no qualms about putting in the time again. So here they were.

“You have to follow orders,” he said. “If you’re told to wait in the van, you wait in the van.”

“There was no toilet in this van – sort out the equipment a little better and I wouldn’t have to break the rules!”

“And if there had been a problem? If the team had evacuated to the van and left, not realising among a hailstorm of bullets that you weren’t in it? That you were behind a bush twenty feet away? What then, Skye?”

“Alright. That wouldn’t be cool, I know. But Ward gave me a bottle! I mean, maybe that works for you guys, but you have to realise that me and Simmons need actual facilities. There are some basic anatomy differences-“

Phil resists the urge to put his head in his hands and tunes her out, momentarily. Natasha had never complained about this sort of thing, out on missions with him and Clint. And Lord knows she’d had reason to more than once.

“It’s not always possible, Skye, and you know that. We won’t make these things difficult for you on purpose but we can’t provide a van with a working toilet and you can’t wander off. I want your promise that you won’t again, or I can’t keep taking you out on missions. You’re not a qualified agent and so I won’t be responsible for you not coming back.”

Skye looks at her hands, and shrugs. She nods towards the filing cabinet behind him. “Ok, I promise. Is this going in my file?”

“Yes, it’s a disciplinary matter,” Phil turns to his filing cabinet. He doesn’t like calling Skye up on every little thing, but he gets the impression that too much leeway here would do more harm than good. Turning back to face her, he sees she’s grabbed the picture on his desk.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” She’s squinting at it, slightly, and turning it around so Clint’s upright instead of mostly sideways. “Hawkeye?”

“Yes,” Phil confirms. “Although I hadn’t invited you to help yourself to my desk.”

“I was hardly going through the drawers, AC, it’s on your desk for all to see.”

“If you’re inclined to use distraction techniques to get to see it, I suppose it is,” he counters, mildly.

“It’s not Hawkeye, though, is it?”

Phil gives up on maintaining the meeting and puts down his pen. Sometimes the only way to deal with Skye is to let her run. “What do you mean?”

She’s cradling the picture in her hands, careful not to touch the glass. “This isn’t some fan-taken photo, I mean. This isn’t Hawkeye, it’s… whoever. What’s his name?”

“Clint.” There doesn’t seem much point not letting her know that much. Even if she’s heard of him, it would have been as Agent Barton.

She nods and places the picture gently back on his desk. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Well, that’s wrong footed him. “Sorry? Why?”

“I shouldn’t have pushed and I shouldn’t have wormed my way into your private life. Everyone’s entitled to that. I thought I was just teasing you about being an Avengers fan-girl, but it can’t be easy. You know, being away from your boyfriend,” she glances up, eyes earnest, and it’s that that causes her last words to actually register.

“Clint isn’t my – I’m his – was,” he corrects, “his handler. He was one of my assets. I have a picture of another of my agents, right over there!” He points to the cabinet, and she glances curiously at the blur. “She’s not a fan of cameras,” he explains.

“Right… ok, no problem AC! Absolutely nothing going on between you and the Avenger known as Hawkeye. Got it.” She winks as she leaves, and that’s it then – it’ll be all over the Bus by – well, by about now.

 

\--

“You wanted to see me, AC?”

Skye hovers in the doorway; as far as she’s aware she hasn’t actually done anything wrong in the recent past. Possibly because they’ve been confined to the Bus for the past three days after the engine had failed over enemy territory. While they waited for SHIELD engineers to show up they’d played a lot of board games. Skye’s not even a sore loser, so why she’s been called to the boss’ office is a mystery.

“Yes, come in, close the door.” Phil waves an arm indicating the front of his desk, but the usual chair is missing. Skye pushes the door shut and walks forwards, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl. “I think there’s someone you might like to meet, given the interest you’ve had in him recently.”

There’s the lightest of thumps behind her. She twists, catches sight of blond hair and muscled arms and – _oh_.

“Hawkeye? Erm – sorry, Agent Barton?”

“The one and only,” answers Clint, grinning. Phil rolls his eyes. “I hear I've found myself another fan.” Skye is confused, for a minute. She's not really a Hawkeye fan, and it would just be weird to be an Agent Barton fan – she doesn't even know the guy, after all.

“Coulson?” she responds, screwing her nose up. “I think he's the fan in this room,” she suddenly realises what she's saying and _oh god – she's being incredibly uncool_. “Not that you're not great, I'm sure you are, and thanks for your service,” _oh, it's getting worse_. Just stop babbling, that's probably for the best. Luckily, Barton is smirking; amused.

“You think Phil is my number one fan?” he asks, and he's leaning closer to her now, like they're sharing a confidence. Skye can hear the faint sound of chair wheels rolling over carpet as Coulson stands up.

“I know he is,” she replies quietly, but the office is small and Coulson must have heard it. She wonders if he'll reprimand her for it later. Or even right now. She skirts around Barton quickly, putting his bulk between her and the senior agent. “I have training with Ward, so I'm gonna go,” she adds nonchalantly, before leaving, sharpish.

 

–

“The one and only?” asks Phil, dryly. “Every time I think your ego can't get any bigger, it balloons a couple of sizes.” Clint smiles in acknowledgement, but its not his banter smile.

“Blame Tony, he's obviously rubbing off on me.” Clint walks around to the other side of Phil's desk; slowly, deliberately. Now that it's been angled into a corner there's not a lot of room back here, but Clint just turns to face out to the room and picks up the picture sitting in pride of place. “You like it?” He's trying for casual, but Phil has known him too long not to pick up a note of rawness.

“I do,” he confirms. “It's a good picture of you.”

“Better than that fan-picture,” he agrees. “Do you like your picture of Natasha?”

“Yes,” Phil carefully modulates his voice, keeping it steady. He knows Clint will have placed the picture already, but he can't help adding, “it's over there, on my cabinet.” He hopes the 'not on my desk, where I see it all day every day' comes across, because he's never actually going to come right out and say that. Clint just nods, still looking down at the framed photo in his hands.

“Why did May buy you that in the first place?”

The air in the room is charged. Phil decides maybe its time for honesty. “Because over the years I've got far too used to having an asset taking up space on my couch, and I was having difficulty adjusting to the peace and quiet of this office,” he replies. No one said honesty couldn't come with a side of snark, after all.

“You can get Avenger talking dolls now, you know,” Clint answered. He's perched himself on the edge of the desk, and it means he's looking up slightly. Phil is suddenly aware of how close they are, squashed into the space behind the desk. He'd only have to rock forward and they'd be touching.

“I don't really care,” Phil whispers. “It's not the picture, or a doll, that I want.” Clint gazes up at him. His eyes are clear and searching, but they obviously find what they're looking for. There's a beat of tension, and then Clint surges forward. There are warm lips, soft against his own, and then a brazen sweep of tongue. There are arms encircling his waist and soft, well-worn cotton under his fingertips. _There should be skin_ , he thinks muzzily, higher brain functions shutting down. One hand sweeps into Clint's hair while the other edges under the t-shirt hem. It's joined by a warm palm, pressing Phil's fingers into Clint's waist. And then there's air, and thoughts are rushing back in, but Clint is chuckling with his head bowed into Phil's shoulder and his hand still pinning Phil's to his side. 

“So this isn't actually what I came here for,” Clint says. His voice is deeper than normal and his hair is mussed. _I did that_ , realises Phil. “Not that I'm complaining,” he smirks. “But I was really just paying you a visit. You haven't been around a lot lately.” It's something Phil's been feeling guilty about anyway – not with Tony or Bruce or Thor, or even Steve really – but Clint and Natasha are different. He'd died, and then he'd been alive again but almost constantly up in the air. “I heard you were grounded and volunteered to come help. Although all I've actually done is meet Skye and get myself a boyfriend.” There's a pause, and Clint should know the answer from the smile on Phil's face, but he still asks: “You are my boyfriend, right?”

It sounds almost childish; that there should be a better word for what a forty-nine year old and a thirty-eight year old are to each other, but there isn't. “I am,” he confirms.

Clint has unpinned Phil's hand, and now his two hands are running up and down Phil's sides; under the jacket, over the shirt. The movement is surprisingly soothing, especially as Clint frowns. “What do you want to tell your team?” he asks, then without waiting for an answer - “we don't have to say anything. They already know we're friends and I flirt with anyone and everyone, so we can explain it to Skye-”

Phil stops his mouth with a kiss. It's just a short one, a peck really, but its surprisingly effective. If he'd figured out this tactic for shutting Clint up years ago he could have saved himself a few headaches. “I think in reality they already know. I'm okay with that.”

Clint grins again, and reaches up to drop a peck of his own on Phil's lips. “And the Avengers?” he adds.

“Up to you,” says Phil. “They're your team,” he strokes one hand down Clint's face, surprised at how easy it is to just reach out and touch. How comfortable they already feel.

“I want to tell them,” admits Clint. “I can't keep it from Tash, anyway.”

“That's the logistics sorted then, maybe now we can get back to the proper business.”

“And what would that be, sir?” Clint is teasing, but there's an unexpected shiver that runs through him at that simple three letter word.

“I think you know, agent,” he responds, dipping down for another kiss.

“Before that, though,” Clint interrupts, “the engines have turned over and you're not stranded any more.”

“So?”

“So I imagine your team will be expecting to see you, and my ride out here is packing up to leave.”

Phil sighs. It might be SHIELD that brought them together, but there's a reason most agents are single. Unless you work in Admin, or R&D like Fitzsimmons used to, you never knew when you'd get to see someone from one day to the next. “This bus is a mode of transport, and we're due to head back to the US as soon as we wrap up intel gathering on this weapons dealer.”

“Could you use a sniper?”

“I think someone who sees better from a distance could be just what this op requires.”

“Ok, then,” Clint grins again. Phil already loves that smile; he silently thanks May for her meddling if it means he gets to see it more often. “Guess you've got a roomie for a few nights.”


End file.
